


Head Above Water

by misura



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Aimeric Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Does the Prince really expect you to talk my father into giving him Fortaine?"</i> (Aimeric and Jord on a not so secret mission at Fortaine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Above Water

**Author's Note:**

> diverges from canon at some point in the second book, because the idea of Aimeric taking Jord home to meet his family appealed to me. (Arguably, that's not quite what happens in this fic, but that was the idea that got me started, anyway.)

Fortaine was a fortress like many others.

Lord Guion was a noble like many others; his sons, the usual assortment of young men who tended to mistake deference for respect, which suited Jord just as well.

"You'll like my mother," said Aimeric, a bit subdued. He was the youngest son, and people treated him as such. Jord had seen the way people had treated Laurent when Auguste and his father the King had still been alive; this wasn't like that.

Of course, if you didn't take their age and noble blood into consideration, Laurent and Aimeric had very little in common. Laurent was cold, calculating; brilliant, if you gave him half a chance to think. Everything soft about Laurent had died with his brother.

Aimeric, by contrast, was impulsive, hot-tempered. Prone to acting before he thought. Soft, even if he would deny it to his last breath. Easy to love, if you took the time to look beyond the surface.

"I don't dislike your father," said Jord, a bit awkwardly. He felt out of place, off-balance. "Or your brothers." He doubted the feeling was mutual.

"I do," said Aimeric, viciously kicking at a part of the wall that had never done him any harm. "My brothers, anyway. They've always been jealous of me."

Jord wondered what for. Becoming a member of the Prince's Guard was hardly a prestigious position.

 

"Meeting his family - ," Jord had said, half-objecting and half- well, 'begging for help', possibly, although what had possessed him to expect anything of the kind from Laurent was anyone's guess.

"Traditional, or so I hear," Laurent had replied, supremely unconcerned as always. "Unless you want to have it said that I encourage my men to debauch young noblemen without accepting the consequences?"

Aimeric had scowled, which was kindly intended, if also a bit useless. Like a kitten baring its teeth at a leopard. Laurent had smiled at him, which Jord had dared to hope to be caused by a rare good mood, right until the moment Laurent added, "Besides, I could really use his father's support on the council," which put an entirely different perspective on things.

Because _of course_ Laurent would not send off Jord simply to present himself to Aimeric's family.

"I'm not sure that I'm the best person to - " A soldier was not a diplomat.

"Just tell them all about this deep, abiding respect you have for their chaste and virginal son," Laurent had said airily, definitively proving that his mood was, indeed, dangerous, rather than good. "Well?"

Aimeric had flushed a little. It was easy to forget how young he was, how new to Laurent and his moods. Jord intended to see to it that he would stick around long enough to get used to them, to see Laurent as what he truly was: a worthy future king, deserving of their loyalty and support.

"Who will - " A pointless question; he probably should have known better than to ask.

"You know who," Laurent had said.

 _And will you be introducing him to_ your _family shortly?_ Jord had known better than to ask. It was, he kept telling himself, none of his business, anyway. Besides, whether or not Laurent was sleeping with him, Damen would make a fine Captain.

 

"Does the Prince really expect you to talk my father into giving him Fortaine?"

They had both survived dinner, in spite of an assortment of dirty looks and ill-concealed ill wishes from Aimeric's male relatives. The Lady Loyse had seemed oddly distant, as if she could not bring herself to care what sort of man her youngest son might have brought home for a lover.

Jord had wondered if she was unhappy, and then he had wondered if Laurent had known and expected him to do something about it (in which case: what?), and then, finally, he had decided that he should stop overthinking this. If Laurent had made any plans, they would be based on Jord acting like Jord, not on Jord trying to figure out what Laurent's plans were. That way, madness lay.

"No," he said now. They had given him a room next to Aimeric's, which had surprised him. "He merely expects me to do my best. To try."

"You really shouldn't bother. My father hates Laurent," said Aimeric. He sounded smug.

Jord's parents had not lived to see him attain his current position. He liked to think that they would have approved of his choice of career. "Why?" _And why did you come to serve the Prince, if your father hates him so much?_ (Easy answer: Guion was clever enough to hedge his bets.)

"Because - " Aimeric hesitated, then changed his answer to, "He just does," which made little sense.

Probably, Guion simply hadn't shared his reasons with his youngest son. Jord didn't know if that was part of the problem, or just another symptom. There was a distance between Aimeric and the rest of his family, some sort of divide. Jord's presence probably didn't help.

"He doesn't mind you, though," said Aimeric quickly. Trying to change the subject, possibly.

Jord had no objection. Politics were not his area of strength. "He doesn't?" True, Jord hadn't yet been challenged to a duel, but he would not have been surprised to have been taken aside by some members of Guion's own guards for 'a little talk'.

"I think that he might be a little relieved, actually," said Aimeric. "That I'm - you know."

Jord didn't know. "Happy?"

"Yes," said Aimeric. His eyes said that wasn't what he had meant at all.

 

"Madness," Orlant had said, shaking his head.

Any other man, Jord might have chastised for talking treason; Orlant being Orlant, he had limited his response to a shrug. "Perhaps he knows something about Guion the rest of us don't."

Orlant had snorted. "Now, _that_ I don't doubt for a moment."

Jord had decided not to say that perhaps Laurent simply meant well. A trade of sorts; he had also not pointed out that this was a very bad time for Laurent to be diminishing his forces, even if it was only by two men.

"Maybe he expects Guion to try to kill you." Orlant had grinned. Implying that such an attempt would not end well for Guion.

"Aimeric's the youngest," Jord had pointed out. Aimeric would not approve of Jord killing his father. People tended to be touchy about their family, in Jord's experience. This thing between the Regent and his nephew was an exception, not a rule.

Orlant had sighed. "Fine, then. I give up. I have no idea what he's thinking, or how you're supposed to get us Fortaine."

"Maybe I'm not supposed to get him Fortaine." 

"Then what? Get Guion's permission to bed his son? You don't need that. Besides," Orlant had added with a wink and a grin, "it's a bit late for that already, isn't it?"

 

"I am, you know," said Aimeric. He sounded content, a little sleepy.

The stamina of youth, Jord supposed. "You are what?" Guion's loyalties bothered him. Fortaine's potential importance bothered him. Laurent's refusal to tell Jord anything about his true plans should not have bothered him, but it did.

 _Well, if he's sleeping with Damen, maybe that means he's finally found at least one person he's comfortable enough with to trust._ Jord wasn't sure what to make of the fact that the person Laurent had chosen to trust was a person he had also ordered whipped. To the death, nearly.

"Happy," said Aimeric. His voice was a bit sharp, as if he knew Jord's mind had wandered to topics that had nothing to do with him, with the two of them, here and now. "You make me happy."

 _Who didn't?_ "I'm glad. You deserve to be happy."

Aimeric scowled at him. His hair was tousled, which somewhat diminished the ferocity of his expression. "Don't I make you happy, too?"

 _Oh, the insecurity of youth._ "Very." Was it just insecurity, though? Aimeric was confident enough when it came to picking a fight with someone twice his size.

Naturally, people might be different in private from how they chose to act in public.

Aimeric wriggled a little. "Prove it?"

 _Again?_ "I thought that we agreed that it would be best to get a good night's sleep."

"Sleep is overrated," said Aimeric. "Besides, it's not as if you're an old man, or something. You don't need that much sleep."

"I suppose we can always sleep late tomorrow." _Or just never leave these rooms at all._ Well, _that_ would probably be a bit much; Jord did have a fortress to win, after all - _even if I still don't have a clue how I'm going to actually do that_.

 _Or even_ if _I'm expected to actually do that._

"Will you stop _thinking_ ," said Aimeric, giving him an excellent reason to do just that.

Jord decided that the best apology would be made in actions, rather than words.


End file.
